The Art of Survival
by stripytiger98
Summary: Aedan Freeguard is a District Seven citizen, in the nation of Panem. And on the day of the 63rd Reaping Ceremony, his life - and maybe the length of it - changes forever.
1. Chapter 1: Journeying

**A/N: ****Okay. This story is set in District Seven in Panem, at the time opf the 63rd Annual Hunger Games. The main character is a 15 y/o boy called Aedan Freeguard, who is on his way to the Reaping with his mum, dad, older brother and younger sister.**

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My little sister Poppy grasps my hand as our family makes our way towards the District 7 market square. As we walk along the winding road with dozens of dozens of other people, I squeeze hers in response.  
I don't know why she's so anxious; she's not eligible for the reaping, since she's only just turned nine. I'm the one who should be nervous. I'm fifteen. I've taken out tesserae. I could be chosen as a representative for District 7. I could be entering the arena in a few days as part of the Hunger Games.

The Games are a series of really sadistic annual events that were devised by the ruling Capitol sixty-three years ago, in response to the thirteen outlying districts of Panem rebelling against it. The Capitol won the war, Districts 1 through 12 were subdued, and District 13 was destroyed as a reminder to the rebels of the Capitol's power. That happened in the Dark Days.

The Hunger Games take place every year, after the Victory Tour of the previous Games. During the Games, twenty-four children, known as tributes, are selected to fight to the death in a televised event, which is compulsory viewing for everyone in the nation of Panem. There are two tributes from each district. This rule might not apply for Quarter Quells, in which anything could happen... But one thing is certain; only one tribute can survive.

I've only just realised that Poppy's fingernails are digging into my palm. I relinquish her hand quickly, massaging the four weals in my palm.

"What's your problem?" I ask. She leans her right temple into my forearm and I automatically put my arm around her.

"I hate this, Aedan," she mumbles. "I want to go home."

"Pop, you know we can't; we have to go to the reaping. The Peacekeepers'll come round to all the houses in District 7 and check that we're all there. Besides, it's more than an hour's walk back home."

She sighs. "I just hate seeing some of your friends getting drawn."

She's right. Maisy, my friend Stan's girlfriend, was reaped for the Hunger Games a few years ago. She was thirteen. Maisy was slaughtered by a Career pack on the third day.

"I know, but we have to go. The choice is out of our hands."

The rest of the journey passes in a slightly disturbing silence. But as we file into the market square, Poppy squeezes my forearm again.

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I saw this method of closing chapters in a book, but I can't remember which.

STRIPYTIGER98: Aww, Aedan, you're such a comforting brother!

AEDAN: Well, it's just what my brother did for me when I was younger. So I guess you have him to thank.

STRIPYTIGER98: I will. Somehow... So, how many times is your name in today?

AEDAN: Twenty. I guess you could say the odds _are_ in my favour.

STRIPYTIGER98: You _could_... Anyway, as always, **Read, rate and subscribe!** And until next time, Sayonara!

AEDAN: "Sayo_what_?"

STRIPYTIGER98: It's Japanese...

AEDAN: Japan? Where's that?

STRIPYTIGER98: Don't you know where... ? Oh. I forgot. Panem. The Capitol... The next chapters should be interesting, so don't forget to check back here often!

AEDAN: Is that just a way to attract more fanfiction!ers? (to readers) And may the odds be _ever_ in your favour!

STRIPYTIGER98: Um...


	2. Chapter 2: Prelude

All of us potential tributes have to go and stand in a cordoned-off area, away from our parents. As the Peacekeepers usher us away from our family, I can't help wondering; will this be the last I'll see of District Seven?  
Once they've taken a blood sample to say that we're here, the Peacekeepers shuffle us into reverse age order; the youngest at the back and the oldest at the front. This means I'm slap-bang in the middle.  
Apart from the mockingjays' calls from the nearby woods and the tap-tap-tapping of the Peacekeepers' pearly-white boots, all is silent. I find myself looking through the crowd trying to see if anyone's on the stage, but the older, taller teens are blocking the way. The throng looks like a sea; we're all in are forget-me-not blue reaping day outfits, which are our finest.  
Suddenly, the tall clock tower, that usually tells us when it's time to go home when we're at work, chimes for fourteen-hundred hours, and the district escort Maja Möller, fresh from the Capitol, walks onstage, closely followed by the mayor, Charles Knowles.  
Maja is eccentric, even by the Capitol's standards. On her hat is a giant revolving hologram of a tree, with the words "DISTRICT SEVEN -LUMBER" on it. I can only imagine the cost of such technology; it's something that District Three would make. It could probably put clothes on the back of a family for a few years. Although we're no considered the poorest of the twelve districts. Oh no. That's District Twelve. Coal. Not that we know much about it; it's against the law for the districts to have contact with each other. In President Snow's eyes, this could incite rebellion.  
And her hat isn't the only weird thing. Her dress is tree-themed too, the hue of fresh spring onions. And floaty like silk. It smells of peppers, too. I can smell it from all the way over here, in the eighth, ninth row or so. Great. I'm slightly allergic to spicy foods. It doesn't really matter, considering we don't have as many luxuries as District Two. They're the Capitol's lapdogs. Supplying them with fresh Peacekeepers each year, so they get more to eat and stuff, whilst the rest of Panem struggle to survive with meagre rations.  
She steps up to the mike.  
"Welcome, welcome! The time has come for us to select one more courageous young man and woman for the honour of representing District Seven in the Sixty-Third Annual Hunger Games," she says in her stupid Capitol accent.  
Although we don't say it aloud, we must all be thinking, "An honour? If it's so great, then go and fight in the arena against twenty-three other bloodthirsty kids yourself, you stupid moo." Well. I am, at any rate.  
"But before we get on with the reapings, first a speech from the kindly mayor of our district, Mr. Knowles."  
Now Maja steps down from the microphone with the Capitol seal engraved on it, and the mayor takes her place.  
He drones on in a long-winded speech about the reason behind the Hunger Games. About how the districts rebelled. And how the Capitol subdued them. And about the destruction of District Thirteen.  
At last, he steps down from the mike and Maja returns. Oh God. My heart's hammering against my ribcage so hard, it actually hurts. As it has every year for the past three years.  
Now she's introducing the mentors. Juliya Pesca, a twenty-nine year old victor, and Jacen Cruik, who's twenty-two. As they go on the stage, Maja starts clapping for them, but she stops presently once she realises that no-one else is; they all want to find out the results of the reaping.  
Hurriedly, she brings over the two glass bowls filled with about a thousand slips of paper each. Twenty of those have my name on. Twenty in thousands.  
"I thought we'd mix things up, this year," begins Maja. "Gentlemen first..." And she slowly dips her hand into the left bowl.  
My entire body starts to shiver. I'm praying to all the gods simultaneously. I close my eyes as she reads out the name.


	3. Chapter 3: Reaped

"Jordan Abercrombie."  
I open my eyes and exhale. It's not me. Thank heaven. But then I watch the reaped boy step out of the crowd from behind me, and I recognise him. I'm momentarily stunned. Dark hair, awkward limp, small stature. It's THAT Jordan. Jordan, the guy I work with in the woods. Jordan, that guy who's neither cool nor a geek at school. And Jordan, my best friend.  
Suddenly, I find myself pushing through the crowd, desperate to reach the stage before him. Once they realise what's going on, the other potential tributes part to allow me to get through. He's only thirteen. He damaged his leg at work; a tree fell on it. He wouldn't survive the Cornucopia Bloodbath on that leg. He'd probably get two steps and one of the Careers would finish him off. And I'm not having that happen to my best mate.  
Finally, I'm right in front of the stage, where Jordan is about to mount the steps. He turns his head towards me, and I can see the disbelief in his face. Of getting reaped. Of the possibility of what I'm about to do.  
As the uniformed Peacekeepers close in on me, his lips form my name, but I don't allow him to finish.  
With élan, I knock him back with my left arm, and I gasp: "I volunteer for him! I'll be tribute."  
"No!" shouts Jordan as the Peacekeepers restrain him. They try to hold me, too, but thanks to my years of working with an axe, I can resist them.  
"Get OFF me!" I say. I don't want to be thought a weak target in the Games when they replay the reaping ceremonies on TV tonight.  
At the edge of the square I can hear Poppy screaming and sobbing hysterically. I try to block her out; the only person who's important to me at this moment in time is Maja Möller.  
"Well?" I ask. "Can I volunteer?" Maja's amazed by how much I must care for Jordan, but she dispels the look on her face, and says: "Of course you can volunteer. Come onstage."  
My legs feel like partly set jelly in a hurricane as I walk up the stone steps and onto the stage. I seriously think I'm going to faint as she introduces me.  
"What's your name, dear?"  
"Aedan," I reply, trying to remain nonchalant. "Aedan Freeguard."  
"Well, let's give a very warm welcome to our newest tribute: Alex Freeguard!"

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**A/N:**** Sorry it's short! I just wanted to get this uploaded now, as I haven't updated for a while.**


	4. Chapter 4:Representatives for District 7

Not one person claps. No-one at all. More to cover the awkward silence than to know the answer, she asks me how old I am, and she calls me Alex.  
"Aedan," I reply. "And I'm fifteen. Sixteen next month, actually."  
"Well, we'll send you a great big birthday cake in the arena, Aedan!" she jokes, to no laughs. Not even a snigger. "Okaaaay, then, let's get on with the girls' draw." And with that, she picks up the girls' bowl, which is noticeably emptier than the other one.  
"Now to draw the girl tribute!" She inserts her hand into the reaping bowl and makes a big show of selecting a slip of paper. But finally she does. She unfolds it and enunciates: "Mara Blackburn."  
Relieved sighs from all around. Safe for another year. We aren't, though. Me and Mara. At least one of us has got to die.  
Mara's trembling from head to foot as she walks up the aisle towards Maja and I. Her blondy-brown hair hangs in a ponytail over her shoulder, which bobs every time she takes a step. She climbs the steps and onto the stage. Mara goes to sand on the other side of Maja as the latter steps forward.  
"Would anyone like to volunteer?" Maja asks. The audience looks stonily back at her.  
"I'll take that as a 'No', then."  
It takes a minute before I can place Mara. I know her vaguely by sight; we've passed several times in the corridor at school.  
When Maja motions for us to shake hands, I feel the calluses on her hand. Probably from swinging an axe all day, like we all do. I try smiling at Mara, and her teal eyes, diluted with tears, lock with my green ones.  
"I give you - Aedan and Mara. This year's representatives for District Seven!"

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**A/N:**** Again: sorry it's short! I really couldn't think how to make this longer. And another thing. I've run out of pre-written chapters to write. And as always, please review this story with your thoughts, and subscribe!**


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